


Workin' for the Company

by ceria



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Comic Book Violence, First Meetings, Get Together, Love in an Elevator, M/M, Nick and Jasper are bros who plot together, for the benefit of SHIELD – honestly, random unnamed bad guys, vague Die Hard references
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-06
Updated: 2016-01-06
Packaged: 2018-05-04 13:13:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5335391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ceria/pseuds/ceria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A one-night stand turns into something else. Something way else.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Workin' for the Company

**Author's Note:**

  * For [zappedbysnow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zappedbysnow/gifts).



> Written for zappedbysnow, who asked for get together, the 'trapped here for a while' line, and comedy/action/smut. I hope I delivered enough for you to enjoy. 
> 
> Happy Holidays!
> 
> Thanks to my beta for all your help but I futzed with it afterwards so all mistakes belong to me. Also, the title is a line from Aerosmith's 'Love in an Elevator.'

Phil's luck never ran this way. According to Nick it ran toward wanton destruction -- usually of SHIELD property. Hell, Phil had a better chance to win the lottery before getting lucky this way. Breath a sharp intake through his nose, caused by the teeth nibbling his neck, Phil jerked his head back, slapping against the elevator paneling to allow more access. No, Phil wasn't going to tell Nick about this, nor should he be thinking of his boss in this exact moment.

"Hey, come back to me," Clint whispered against Phil's earlobe. It really was pg at the moment, just two men leaning against each other in the corner of an empty elevator, Phil's hands squeezing the rails on each side, each wrist covered by a calloused grip, thumbs rubbing against the bare skin beneath his sleeves. His pulse sped up at the touch of lips caressing his neck, "There you are," he muttered.

The elevator music played " _Joy to the World_." He should not be doing this. They were too close to home, it would be too easy to track Phil down but damn, they were already going up to Phil's rarely-used SHIELD apartment, definitely heading for the bedroom as soon as they were inside.

 

He was too old for casual pickups and Phil knew it. But they'd bumped into each other at the bakery around the corner, both of them reaching for the last cinnamon scone. Neither had given up at first, until Phil's eyes followed the knobby fingers up well-veined forearms to a deep purple t-shirt stretched across stunning biceps. 

For a moment, he'd been too tongue-tied to speak, locking eyes until the guy smiled this adorable, crooked grin and suggested they share it. _That_ turned into an hour-long conversation with too much flirting because damn if Clint didn't hit every button Phil had ever considered in a man.

He rarely met someone he wanted to drag home for the night. Then the conversation turned to food and Phil almost reconsidered their flirtation when he suggested he could make better scones at home. It was one thing to want to sleep with someone and another thing to want to cook for them. "I promise they're better than anything you can buy here."

"But you're here, buying a scone."

"It's been a long day," Phil had admitted, "It's not as fun to cook for myself as it is to bake for someone else." For a brief moment, Clint had looked so intrigued that Phil extended the invitation anyway, assuming he'd be turned down. 

Instead, Clint had hesitated, then answered "I travel a lot and I'm rarely in New York for long." It wasn't a clear answer but it sounded like one Phil would give – _I can't commit to more than now but I want this_.

"I have a job that rarely gives me down time," Phil had replied, hands making a 'what can you do about it' motion.

Phil's casual attitude seemed to make Clint relax as well, "I'm free for the night," he'd admitted and Phil had nodded, standing up, holding out a hand.

Clint had yanked the hoodie over his head when they'd left the bakery and kept his head down as if cold. Or hiding from cameras – Phil had to admit the possibility to himself. He touched Clint's face, trying to reassure both of them, drawing it up for a quick kiss. If Phil's fingers happened to slide along his jaw, partially to ground the kiss with touch and partially to make sure Clint wasn't wearing any sort of facial mask, well, that was a coincidence.

Clint wasn't on the watch list for SHIELD, he didn't fit the build of the ten or so mercenaries that Phil knew to be wary of. Phil let his worries go – every once in a while he needed to remind himself why he did this work, why it was _so_ important. Dealing with death and spies and paperwork made it easy to let people become numbers and well, not human. Days like that, Phil needed to draw himself back into the world. He was honest enough to admit that one night with a gorgeous man was a start. 

Clint pulled away as the elevator slowed, his body still blocking Phil into the corner except now it looked like they were conversing and not planning a one-night stand. It dinged as if had reached the correct floor and stopped but no doors opened.

Clint frowned as Phil did, both glancing up to see the floor sign hovering at 11. 

Phil had pressed 15.

When the doors didn't move, Clint turned away, stepping to the left, leaving Phil a little more open. 

The doors still didn't open.

"What the hell?" Clint muttered, glancing at Phil, the hungry expression fading to something more suspicious. That couldn't happen, not right now when Phil hadn't done anything to mess this up. Not this time.

"Not me," he said, "my hands were tied."

"Definitely not," Clint said, "but I'll consider it if you like that sort of thing." He grinned at Phil, his stormy eyes getting a little grayer as his body relaxed.

Phil stepped around him to press the 15 button again. The lights in the elevator blinked as if acknowledging him but nothing else happened. If it were a normal building and Phil an actual civilian, he would shrug and sigh. But this was a SHIELD-owned building and most of the floors were employee residences and the rest were phony businesses, covers used by SHIELD from time to time. Things like this shouldn't happen in SHIELD buildings.

He dropped his head, staring at his black dress shoes, he took a deep breath before pushing the red call button, depressing it for six seconds. He didn't have much hope of getting anyone helpful. The building was empty for a reason – tonight was the annual holiday party and most employees were attending.

It should have made the elevator lights blink again and a small red phone button appear next to the floor numbers. Instead, all the lights in the elevator turned off, dropping them into pitch black until an emergency light came on barely two seconds later. Phil glanced toward Clint, who was no longer in the corner. He spun around. Clint had moved in the dark, crouching into the far corner opposite where he'd been standing, as if half expecting Phil to attack him.

Or maybe he was afraid. Phil raised one eyebrow and Clint shrugged, hands fiddling with the top of his boots as if putting something away. "Sorry," Clint said, standing back up, shaking his arms, rotating his shoulders as if relaxing. "Sudden blackouts startle me."

"It happens," Phil said. Clint approached him, leaning against Phil's right shoulder blade, his left hand wrapping around Phil's left forearm, sliding down to tangle their fingers together. Clint pressed the 12 and 14 buttons a couple times. Phil waited for movement, for lights to blink, for the doors to try and open. Nothing responded.

"Well, that puts a kibosh on things," Clint muttered. Phil tilted his head to lean against Clint's.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"Me too," Clint replied. "I've got to leave tomorrow night for a few days."

"Looks like we’ll be trapped for a while…" Phil started, making Clint burst out in laughter. "What?"

"You don't strike me as one for elevator sex," Clint admitted. He was beautiful in such a rugged way when he laughed. Phil wondered how soon he could make it happen again.

"I…That's not what I…What I meant was…" Well, so much for words never failing him. "I can't imagine we'll be stuck here for long," Phil stammered - finally managing a coherent sentence. "We've still got time."

"I hope so," Clint said, catching Phil's gaze and holding it. 

The emergency light above them sputtered and shut off as if the wires had been cut. Strange. Standard procedure, according to the manual Phil had once read, said a second set of backup generators, barricaded in the basement, would never leave the building in total darkness. Maybe that hadn't included the elevator. Phil couldn't recall with certainty but paperwork and manuals weren't his forte at work.

Both of them pulled out cell phones and unlocked them, the light reflecting weirdly off their chins like they were children telling horror stories.

"No signal?" Phil said, frowning at his phone. He pulled away from Clint to tap the digital keyboard but nothing happened. This was rapidly sliding from fluke accident to planned attack. He needed to get Clint out of the building and figure this out.

"Do we stay or do we go?" Clint asked, stepping away from Phil, leaning against the wall – too far away, damn it – and looked up. "I don't see a lock on the grates, though there is a passcode for the hatch above us. Do you know that?"

"Sure," Phil said, because he did. "Wait, how can you see that?"

"Great eyesight," Clint said, biting his bottom lip. Phil really wished those were his teeth. He shoved the thought aside however and moved closer, bending his knee. Clint didn't hesitate to put one boot on Phil's trousers, levering himself up the wall. He smacked the grated drop ceiling above them, breaking the thin plastic that held it in place, and handed it to Phil, who set it aside.

Phil wrapped large hands around Clint's calf, sliding them up well-defined muscles, appreciating the way they flexed beneath his touch even through jeans. Hands slipped over knee, fingers making Clint twitch as he touched the back, and he continued up, clasping Clint's thigh. Phil could barely wrap both hands around the muscle there.

"Enjoying yourself?" Clint asked without looking as he used a small blade to pop off the cover, fingers hovering over the keypad.

"Settle for what I can get right now," Phil replied. "Seven, fifteen, zero, two," he told Clint, who entered the code.

The grate was barely large enough to slither through but Clint made it look simple. Phil boosted him a little further up, forearms crossed under one of Clint's boots. Clint stuck his arms through, bracing his hands on the edge with elbows above the hole, and hoisted himself straight up. "Impressive," Phil muttered as Clint's torso cleared the hole. 

"Part-time mountain climber," Clint said. Phil stepped backwards into the corner and took a running step, using the rail in the other corner to boost himself up to the hole. He spun and caught the ledge with both hands. Clint grasped one wrist, groaning as he straightened, partially pulling Phil until his shoulders where through and he levered himself onto the elevator roof. Phil rotated his shoulder as soon as he stood, his arm aching from the strain. Unfortunately he was used to ignoring pain in his line of work.

Which Clint didn't know about, Phil really needed to get him out of the building.

"Nice jump," Clint said, that suspicious look back again.

"Martial arts enthusiast since my early twenties," Phil admitted. "I think I know how to get you out of here."

"Wait. What?" Clint shook his head as Phil spoke. "No, not happening."

"The power is out, the elevator is down and the emergency lights aren't working. We should get out now." And together, they'd already broken the elevator. Nick would take one glance at the broken plastic grating and know Phil had done it – he always (rightfully) blamed Phil for needlessly breaking things.

"Yes, _we_ should. You'll go too?"

"Sure," Phil said because a white lie meant nothing – he'd eventually follow Clint out of the building. He'd regret letting Clint go, but that was fine. He'd get him out and Phil could get some reconnaissance – and answers. He should have known better than to try this one-night stand. Things like this never worked out for the best. 

Together they pried open the twelfth floor elevator door, Phil peering out the moment it slid open a couple centimeters, making sure the hall was empty. He vaulted through the door and held out a hand to brace Clint as he climbed through the door. "Window's right around the corner. Got a knife I can borrow?"

Clint fiddled with a pocket in his coat and handed it to him as they walked. Seconds later, Phil had the window pried open. He folded the small switchblade shut and handed it to Clint, reeling him close with his other hand, kissing him briefly.

"What was that for?" Clint whispered.

"For luck," Phil teased. "You go first."

His hands and one foot were on the sill before Clint paused, "You're going to follow me, right?"

"Definitely," Phil replied, "As soon as you're out."

He hesitated again, "Maybe you should go first."

"Can't," Phil said. "I'm afraid of heights. I'll need to follow you down," he glanced out the window and shuddered. 

Yet another white lie but he needed Clint safe. Clint bunched his muscles and Phil wanted to push him – just to get him to move faster. They'd been standing still for too long, increasing their chance of getting caught. Assuming the building was under attack to begin with.

If this was Fury's idea of a drill… Phil might poke his other eye out.

"What do you think you're doing?" Foreign accent, choppy words, loud voice. Shit. Phil couldn't immediately place the accent but it definitely wasn't American. "Away from the window," he continued. Phil raised both hands, stepping closer to the voice as he turned, conveniently blocking Clint. 

"I'm sorry," Phil said. "I couldn't think of any other way to get out. Is there a fire?" Two men, both the size of Mack in the garage, they carried semi-automatic rifles, were dressed in black cargo pants, and had long-sleeve shirts beneath bulletproof vests.

Mercenaries. 

"Clint, run," Phil whispered over his shoulder, stepping forward, widening his stance, holding his arms out, trying to block the window view as much as possible. "Are you the police, is there a problem?" he asked the mercs, playing civilian as best as possible, keeping his expression hopeful and confused instead of agent-smooth.

"You need to come…" both heads snapped back, the men stumbling one step, then collapsing to the ground. Only then did Phil see a knife buried to the hilt in one eye on each of them.

Phil hadn't even seen the blades, hadn't heard the tell-tale whisper of metal being hurled past his head.

"What the hell?" he asked, whirling around. 

Clint shrugged and grinned, "One of my last foster parents was a knife thrower." No way was this man a civilian. "Don't try and ditch me again, all right?" Clint demanded.

"It's not safe," Phil tried and Clint chuckled at him.

"For you maybe."

"How long have you been out?" Phil asked. He could see Clint consider the question.

"Since I left the military."

Phil snorted, even as he walked toward the dead men. "I meant out of the military." He left the knives alone, frisking the two men for ID's, taking the four guns he found on them.

"A couple years," Clint admitted.

"Long enough to get a little rusty," Phil suggested, wincing as Clint glared at him. "You should take the window. I live here, I need to stay."

"I'm still active enough to help you," Clint said, folding his arms, closing off the conversation. He watched Phil consider the words and grinned the second Phil's posture changed, accepting them. Crouching, he yanked his knives free, grimacing at the gore before wiping them clean. He pocketed them as he stood and Phil had no idea where they went.

If Clint didn't end up being a bad guy, Phil needed to recruit him. "What's the plan?" he asked, making Phil blink, because that was unexpected -- Clint struck him as the type to free ball it. "What? Don't tell me you're not former military and I'm going to bet you were an officer. I was barely an NCO. Besides, you live here, not me. What's the plan?"

"Floors eight and ten would be the best location to attack," Phil admitted. "The first through third are empty offices, the fourth is a gym and the rest are residential." In actuality, the only floor Phil needed to protect was nine but he wasn't going to say that. He hated the niggling thought that Clint had picked him up on purpose. Phil, who could read people well enough, didn't think so, but had to admit the possibility. It was best he didn't tell Clint everything.

"We're not splitting up," Clint replied. "Start at ten and go down?" the words were paired with Clint's eyes, definitely traveling down Phil's body. But he looked away before Phil could respond, frowning at the stairwell next to the elevator. "And please tell me there's another stairwell away from the center of the building."

"Sure," Phil agreed, because there were a couple more – Nick was definitely paranoid.

"You don't want to start with the top floor?" Clint asked.

"Each residence has biometrics on the entrances, I can't override those and unless you're hiding night vision thermal goggles in those jeans of yours…"

"Nope, just happy to meet you," Clint teased, waggling his eyebrows.

"You're ridiculous," Phil huffed.

"And you're hot," Clint glanced at the guns, "loaded even."

"Shut up," Phil replied and Clint chuckled. The nearest stairwell was three halls away, nestled in the southwest wall of the building. He hesitated long enough to consider the worst ramifications, then handed Clint one gun. He motioned him to follow and Clint did, gun pointed at the ground.

"Let's go, Phil. Time's a wastin'."

"What do you do now that you're out?"

"Flirt a lot. Wait, you mean out of the military?" Clint asked.

"Yes, Clint." They fell into a pattern easily enough, Phil peaking around the corners, standing and leveling the gun at chest height, while Clint squatted on the ground, ready to bound into action should Phil see anyone else. It felt as though they'd worked together before. 

"Law enforcement. I'm totally legit."

"You're a cop?"

"I'm not a merc," Clint evaded, "or private security." Once they reached the stairwell, Phil touched the fake panel, revealing the keypad. Clint turned away without being asked, watching the hallway as Phil entered two codes. Had he mentioned Nick was paranoid? The first was a silent alarm alerting the individual residences in the building and SHIELD headquarters, and the second unlocked the door to the stairs.

"Communications?" Clint asked, "Our phones are dead but shouldn't we try something else?"

"Floor ten has a communications station, hopefully we can get to that." He entered the stairwell with gun pointed up while Clint checked below them. He motioned Clint to move, following just far enough behind him to make a shooter hesitate before firing twice. Again, Clint surprised him, walking silently down the stairs, clinging to the wall instead of the inner railing where it would be easier to see him. Even experienced agents forgot to follow that protocol.

Phil paused at the door, glancing at Clint.

"What?"

"You'd think they'd have men in the stairwells, or by the doors at least." It was possible Phil went the wrong direction, that the intruders were attacking the apartments instead of what appeared to be functioning offices.

"Maybe they're just small strike team and can't afford the extra men." Clint whispered as he checked the small window in the door, "It's clear."

"Which means we're already caught for taking out two of them." Phil's code unlocked the door but it was Clint who tried to open it silently, barely moving it the entire first minute.

 

Shifting in place, adrenaline making him ansty to move, Phil peaked through the door as soon as possible. Just because the corridor was empty, didn't mean there weren't mercs on the floor. He pointed left, silently suggesting Clint toward the comms in the northwest corner.

Clint scooted along the inside wall, moving in a crouch, gun raised, hands steady. Phil took it all in as he scanned the hall behind them, worried someone would turn a corner and catch them.

Too soon, Phil would have to make a decision whether to trust Clint or not. His libido already did, and watching Clint keep up with him, obviously military trained and accustomed to stealth tactics, wasn't helping his brain decide. He wanted Clint to be on his side. With only one last turn before reaching the door, Phil stopped, drawing back, leaning against the wall. Clint continued only a step further before stopping, one eyebrow raised in question.

"Who are you?" Phil asked. He didn't point a gun at Clint, he didn't even move. Against the far wall, only a couple feet away from him, Clint straightened up, shaking out his legs. 

"You're going to ask that now? _Right_ now?" The he narrowed his eyes, "You need to know before you lead me in there, don't you? Either something is behind that door I'm not cleared to see, or nothing is beyond that door and you need to be on another floor."

"We have communication access beyond that door," Phil disclosed.

"You didn't deny the rest though." Clint sighed at looked at the ceiling. "Well, if this is a test, Jasper, I'm going to fail."

"Jasper?" Phil asked but Clint ignored him.

"Level two SHIELD specialist, I'm Agent Clint Barton. You've probably never heard of SHIELD, have you? You strike me as FBI anyway."

Phil blinked. Jasper had been complaining for two months about his new sniper. That Barton… "But everyone says you don't follow orders."

"Everyone is a liar," Clint hissed. "I follow my orders. I question stupid ones but I've not had that problem lately, Fury assigned me a good handler."

"Sitwell," Phil confirmed.

"Yeah, he's a good team player. Wait, how do you… you work for SHIELD, don't you? That rat bastard."

"Which rat bastard?" Jasper only ever complained about the troublesome specialists. The ones he wanted to make sure that Phil never had to deal with. And he'd complained a lot about Barton. So had Nick, even though he'd been incredibly excited the day he'd recruited the 'best marksman in the world.' He'd been suspiciously silent about Barton since then. Phil had to admit that Nick's lack of crowing had kept Phil from being curious about Agent Barton.

"He put you up to this, didn't he? He's been threatening to get me more into the field, thinks I'm better than just a sniper. I suppose there's nothing really going on here is there, and you're just another test."

Things were not adding together. "I'm not a test," Phil said, that irritated expression on Clint's face needed to go. He had to replace it with the crooked smile that initially made him ask Clint to spend the night. "Clint, I'm…"

The too-loud bang from a gun registered as soon as Clint moving did, he pushed himself off the far wall, tackling Phil around the waist, yanking him down. The bullet grazed Phil's head even as they twisted together, hitting the ground. The hard floor hurt worse than the bullet and Clint was already firing even as they thudded, another man falling dead to the ground.

"Not a test," Phil wheezed as soon as air filled his lungs once more.

"Got it, Sir. What floor?"

"Communications," Phil tilted his head toward the last turn. "Then we need to get to nine." No hesitation this time, Phil handed Clint a second gun as they scrambled to their feet. Clint slid across the ground, guns aimed around the corner. As soon as he didn't fire, Phil followed, slamming his hand against the keypad entrance. It looked like a typical number lock to open the door, but the biometrics were wired around the edges, accepting fingerprints instead of a numerical code.

At least no one had been inside – obviously apparent once the door slid open. The equipment was pristine, if old and slightly dusty. Clint shifted to the right, standing in the empty spot next to the door as Phil crossed the room. 

A tiny, covered generator hid inside the console panel next to the equipment. Phil depressed the flat panel to open it and switched the generator on. As soon as the console lights turned on, he flipped three switches, waiting for the red to flicker solidly to green. No point screwing around, he switched it to all channels.

"Hotel-echo-delta, this is Eagle's Roost one-seven. I repeat, hotel-echo-delta, this is Eagle's Roost one-seven. We are under duress and taking fire. Do you copy?"

It crackled in response. Phil counted to five, then repeated the message. 

"Please identify yourself," the female voice was young, too pleasant and didn't convey _any_ sense of urgency. 

"Identify myself?" He asked, "Protocol demands that you relay this message immediately to your supervisor. Why have you not done that yet?"

"One moment please," she asked and Clint snickered near the door.

"Barton," Phil hissed, as if he had any ability to actually threaten Clint, or that Barton's sudden laughter didn't ease him.

"This is Garrett, who's this?"

"Thank God," Phil said, pressing the button down. "John, you toilet, this is Phil. Roost one-seven is under attack. I need backup."

"How many hostiles?" Garrett asked.

"Three dead, we haven't seen more yet."

"We?" Garrett asked. 

"Another agent, Garrett, I need a STRIKE team to roost one-seven."

"They've been deployed, Coulson. Stay safe."

"Coulson out." He took a deep breath, hands resting on the console for a moment.

"Agent Phil Coulson," Clint said as Phil turned around. "I've heard about you."

"Nothing terrible, I hope."

"Sitwell said you're a desk jockey with a passion for paperwork and I should never speak to you."

"Paperwork is for admins," Phil said, "I am not an admin." 

"Seems like he didn't want us to meet," Clint said.

"But why?" Phil asked.

A noise behind them, something clicked and Clint raised his gun, stepping away from the door for better aim at the entrance. Phil recognized that sound, he'd used it before to unlock countless doors. He didn't know anyone except SHIELD had that tech. 

"Get back," he whispered, diving to his right as Clint went the other direction. The two mercs came in shooting first and fried the console even as Clint and Phil took them out, Clint's one bullet for Phil's two.

When no one followed, Clint dropped to the floor and rolled past the open door, gun aloft, but he didn't shoot. Sighing, Phil dusted off his suit. "Enough is enough, I'm getting tired of this game. Barton, you want to change the rules?"

"Definitely, Sir," he agreed. "The plan?"

"Work our way down and take them out." SHIELD's holiday party should have been a secret and the door opener should have been as well. No one should have been in this building tonight but Phil had skipped the party.

"No survivors?" Clint's gleeful expression matched Phil's emotions at this point. Phil had to admit, there was something to the idea that he didn't have to hold back for fear that his partner couldn't match his skill. Besides, he could tell Nick that he hadn't caused a mess in a whole three months. He was past due.

"Eh," Phil said, shrugging his shoulders, "one might be nice."

"Copy that," Clint said and just walked out the door as he didn't have a care in the world. 

Phil leaped after him – and realized that the two of them just might create more paperwork for SHIELD than any other current team.

The ninth floor was accessible by the main elevator and only a single set of stairs. Nick had obstructed access to that floor on purpose to make it harder to sneak into. Without something built to go through walls, they'd have to use one the elevator or that single stairwell. Which meant the stairwell since the generators were down. Might as well assume the intruders knew what Phil did, it would make it easier. No one blocked their way and again, both men silently descended another level.

They should have discussed a plan – Phil knew this and Clint had already told him he'd do as asked. Instead, Phil led him through the door into the foyer of the fake office. Not that it could be one hundred percent false because Phil knew it housed some of SHIELD's secrets. Nick had never been comfortable keeping things together in one spot and definitely not all at HQ. 

He wished he had more time to admire Clint's ability, but the waterfall of bullets crashing around them kept him moving. Clint wasn't enhanced so he wasn't actually dodging bullets but he moved, glanced, aimed, and shot quicker than Phil and definitely quicker than the mercs. Another three men were down and the rest scurried out of the entranceway, down the halls into offices. 

The crash of breaking plastic behind Phil made him whirl, gun pointed at Clint's chest, who held a broken, plastic Santa, another intruder unconscious on the ground.

They crouched down in the circular receptionist desk in the center of the open room. At least two of their guns had no ammo. Clint handed Phil another gun and then glanced around, picking up pens, small pieces from a nativity set, and a few other things, setting them on the ledge near him.

"You took the wise men but not the baby?" Phil asked.

"Isn't it his birthday? And isn't he a pacifist or something?"

"Today isn't Christmas, but yes that's one interpretation," Phil said, unable to not laugh at Clint.

"Figured I'd give him the day off for his birthday and all," Clint took the laughter well, grinning at Phil. It would be easy to forget they were in the middle of a firefight just to stare at him a little longer.

Phil shook the thought loose and focused. They needed to buy STRIKE a few more minutes. He cleared his throat, "I'm Agent Coulson with the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division; I'm willing to accept your surrender now. Can you send someone with the ability to negotiate, please?"

Clint gaped at him, mouth strung open, and had to cover it quickly to hide his laughter. "Does that ever work?" he whispered.

Phil shook his head because he didn't need it to _work_ , he needed a few more minutes of time for STRIKE to arrive.

Something metallic rolled into the room and Clint reached out, as did Phil, the two of them diving across the far side of the desk hand-in-hand. The flash of bright light hurt his eyes even though the desk blocked most of it. "At least it wasn't a grenade," he whispered.

"Nice dive," Clint teased.

"Synchronized swimming as a teen," Phil admitted. Wow – he'd never told _anyone_ about that.

"Really?" Clint asked.

"Mom thought it would be safer."

"You were bullied a lot as a child, weren't you?"

"Pretty much. Never told my mom though." He glanced up and looked around, the immediate area still empty. "What about you?"

"I hung out with the acrobats, the Flying Frenzies, while in the circus." Phil remembered reading about Barton's circus background. At the time, he'd wondered if it had been made up to cover up something darker.

Smoke enveloped the room – someone must have thrown it in while they were talking. Damn - it was too easy for Clint to distract him. "They want you alive," Clint realized. They needed out of there – Phil grabbed Clint's hand again and dragged him across the floor into a generic office. The door clicked behind them and Phil tapped the hidden panel to open the keypad and lock the door. 

"It won't buy us long," he admitted. "Can you shoot the glass out?" he pointed to the small, picture window behind them. They were on the ninth floor and Phil knew their chances were slim of making it safely down, but they had to appear to try.

"I'll need all the bullets."

"Do it," Phil said, sliding behind the single desk in the office. He ran his fingers across the upper left drawer, the heat of them making a keypad appear. "Please," he muttered, entering his code for the stairwell. Smiling when it clicked, he pocketed the only item in the drawer, a fat, ceramic Santa Claus people collected as holiday decorations. Nick had an odd sense of how to disguise things sometimes.

The bang of the gun eight times hurt his ears but nothing to be done about that. Clint had fired two bullets each into the corners of the window, shattering the entire bullet-resistant glass. Standing, he rushed the window, the whole pane disintegrating from the force of his shoulder, shattering outwards.

Shots fired outside the door, the intruders still trying to get through the reinforced walls. "We don't have much time," Phil said, pushing the chair out of the way and rolling back the piece of decorative carpet. "You have that pen from the reception desk still?"

Clint handed it over and Phil unscrewed it, turning the pieces, "I was worried when you picked that up." It looked more like a tiny antenna now and Phil shoved it into the round hole that had been hidden by the carpet. "Down we go," he said, motioning as part of the floor shifted and slid open, revealing a staircase. "You first so I can lock it behind us."

"You get all the fun toys," Clint muttered, climbing down. Phil adjusted the rug after them, unable to reach the chair. Hopefully they'd assume it aided their escape out the window.

He reclosed and locked the hatch, dropping the last couple feet into the tunnel next to Clint. Who stood stiller than Phil could imagine – at attention as if he were still a soldier. He turned, worried this escape had been compromised, only to find Nick Fury standing there, gun pointing at them.

"Coulson, talk to me."

"Agent Barton has been helping me, Nick. And they ruined my plans tonight," Phil replied, glancing at Clint who was blushing. Phil wanted to watch that blush creep across his skin more than he wanted to deal with Nick.

"All Level six and higher agents should be at the holiday party," Nick said. "Where I was until you decided to stop a few intruders."

"You should be glad I wasn't there then," Phil said. "Exactly why are you pointing a gun at us?"

"You should have waited for backup!"

"Coulson had my six," Clint finally said, then shut his mouth as fast as it took for Nick to glare at him.

"It's not like Clint was going to miss. I wasn't worried."

Nick put his hands on his hips at that comment but didn't disagree with it. "Why is Barton involved?"

"Because he was with me," Phil replied, waiting for Nick to understand. It didn't take him long.

"Sitwell!"

"Sir?" Jasper appeared around the tunnel corridor with three STRIKE members behind him. All around them various teams were spreading out in the secret tunnel, accessing the building from varying points, getting ready to take out any further intruders. Hopefully they managed to keep a few alive.

"Did I not tell you to keep these two apart? That SHIELD couldn't afford their kind of mass destruction if they met?"

"Yes sir," Jasper said, glancing at Clint. "Agent Barton? How did you two meet?"

"Not important," Phil said, stepping forward, moving in front of Clint until Fury holstered his gun.

"Wait, you mean to say you met outside of work?" Nick said. "I _knew_ I should have transferred one of you to Washington."

"Too late," Phil said, Clint stepping around him to lean against his shoulder.

"Paper pusher, huh, boss?" Clint asked Jasper, who rolled his eyes.

"Insubordinate?" Phil asked Jasper.

"I followed my orders, orders I happen to agree with! You two are menaces! You're going to double our budget if you work together."

"Well," Phil said, "I guess we'll discover if your projections are as accurate as you fear, won't we?"

"Coulson," Nick said and Phil only shook his head.

"Nick," he took out the ceramic Santa and tossed it to him, "we saved your secret and caught you some intruders. Happy holidays. Clint and I are taking a vacation. Starting right now. We'll be back in," he glanced at Clint for confirmation. "Three or four days?"

"Four is better," Clint said. "I'm already packed for my next mission, but it can be safely delayed until we return."

Without asking, Phil suspected they'd be back to work that fourth day. Late but back. It was definitely fun to irritate Nick and Jasper with the idea however.

"Nick, we're going on vacation. We'll see you in five days."

"You…" Jasper started but Nick glanced at the Santa; Phil didn't know what it protected, what hid beneath the ceramic and wasn't going to ask. All that mattered was that it was safe and he and Barton weren't hurt.

Nick held up his hand, cutting Jasper off and nodded in agreement. "Good work, Agents. See you in five." He turned with a flurry of black leather and started calling out orders for STRIKE to get to work. Sitwell glanced at them again, huffed, and turned to follow Nick.

Phil turned toward Clint, "You okay with this? We can go our own way if you prefer."

"Scones," Clint said, raising one eyebrow. "You promised to make me scones in the morning." He opened and closed his mouth, taking a deep breath. "But we should sleep first, and plan for the scones on day two."

"I like this plan," Phil admitted. Clint reached out and ran fingers down Phil's bicep, resting them against the skin on his wrist while he nodded in agreement.

* * *

Phil woke first, unaccustomed to sleeping nude, much less uncovered and next to someone. The maroon blankets were hanging off the far corner of the bed, only covering Clint's ankle and foot. He still slept, spread eagle on his stomach, his arm stretched across Phil's stomach. His head was turned away and Phil could hear the soft snores.

He slid out of Clint's grasp and draped the blankets over the end of the bed, allowing himself a satisfied smirk. This wouldn't be difficult to get used to, waking with Clint beside him. Hopefully that would happen again after these few days of vacation.

But now, he needed to go grocery shopping. He started the coffee and left Clint a note.

 

Half the ingredients were added by the time Clint shuffled out of the bedroom, nose sniffing. "Coffee?" he mumbled, glancing at the pot, empty cup, and extra cream Phil had set out for him. He leaned against Phil's back before filling the mug, pressing lips to shoulder blade. "Morning."

Phil didn't say anything, just smiled at him, unsure he could keep his vocal cords from spilling out how content he currently was with Clint in his kitchen. Clint wore his Captain America sweats and no shirt and wasted no time once coffee was in hand, to crowd against Phil.

"Hi," Phil said, reading the next step again because the recipe he'd made a thousand times suddenly fled his mind.

"This okay?" Clint asked once the cup was almost empty. "I have this tendency to crowd in the morning. Especially if I wake alone."

"It's good," Phil couldn't get the words out quick enough, it was _so_ good.

"Okay," Clint said, using one hip to push off the counter. He kissed Phil's other shoulder blade and refilled his mug. 

Only thing left was oven time, Phil closed it and checked the buzzer twice – because Clint was half naked barely two steps away, all caffeinated, and sleep tousled, and Phil just needed… He took the empty cup from Clint and ran his hands down bare chest, nails scraping nipple, fingers stopping at the top of his pants.

"Phil," Clint whispered. "You made me coffee, you're making me breakfast, pretty sure it's my turn to contribute this morning."

"You're here, aren't you?" and dear lord, he couldn't believe he said that. Phil lowered his gaze, watching Clint's diaphragm expand. That was easier than looking up and letting him see just how truthful those words had been.

"Nowhere else I'd rather be. Besides, you're quickly becoming my best Christmas ever." He took Phil's hand and pulled him to the sofa. "How long do we have?"

"Nineteen minutes," Phil whispered.

They'd been so tired last night; they'd returned to Phil's actual apartment - not the SHIELD-cover - eaten dinner, taken separate showers, and fallen into bed for a fast, mutual hand job and a little bit of talking. But sleep had been necessary.

"I don't want you to be my handler," Clint said as soon as Phil dropped into the dark blue recliner, slipping to his knees between Phil's spread legs.

"You don't?"

"Too compromised," Clint admitted as he put his hands on Phil's thighs, sliding them up. "You don't agree?" he pushed his hands up, fingers tracing the edge of Phil's cock, stopping at the button.

"Oh, I agree," Phil said, glancing down, "about that and to this," he nodded at Clint's hands. Only then did Clint lean in, kissing Phil's chest through the t-shirt as he tugged at the button, lowering the zipper before he pushed aside underwear. He glanced again for confirmation before lowering his head.

Phil dug his fingers into the chair's arms, refusing to grab onto Clint. They hadn't talked enough about triggers, likes, or dislikes to know for sure what he could do. They'd get there if this was meant to last more than the few days' vacation they had together.

"You feel so good," Phil said. One of Clint's hands kneaded his thigh, the other wrapped around the base of Phil's dick, rubbing back and forth while his mouth worked up and down, his tongue sliding around. Phil couldn't begin to figure out what worked best for him in that moment; watching the top of Clint's head bob up and down or the feel of wet heat and friction.

Not that choosing mattered. "Oh my god," he said, finally lifting one hand to gently touch Clint's head, fingers carding through spiky hair.

Clint pulled off, running his tongue across the tip, making Phil shudder. "Jeans," he said, voice already hoarse. It was easy to imagine how he wouldn't be able to talk at all if Phil fucked his mouth hard and fast. Together they got Phil out of his jeans, leaving them puddled on the floor beneath Clint's knees. 

"Can I touch you?" Phil asked because he wanted to grip Clint's shoulders and not the chair. Contact that he could instigate.

"Just don't hold me down," Clint said, "please."

Clint lowered his head. "Been so long," Phil said, trailing one hand across Clint's back, "forgot how good this feels. How amazing _you_ feel." Clint rubbed his tongue against the ridge and Phil moaned. He wanted to push up in to the heat, wanted to bury himself further in the wetness, but he held still, letting Clint move. 

Clint tucked one hand between Phil's legs, gently rubbing his balls. "Oh god, Clint, I'm not gonna last," he wheezed, leaning over, both hands on Clint's bare skin now, fingers curling around muscle, squeezing, trying to stave it off and last longer.

Clint pulled back, tilting his head to catch Phil's gaze, letting most of Phil slide out of his mouth. His hand circled Phil's cock, the saliva making movement easy. Phil watched Clint, who watched him. 

"Do you want to pull off?" Phil asked, the words barely understandable. Clint shook his head no and slid as much as possible in his mouth, the head bumping against roof. Phil shuddered again, biting his lower lip.

"You're beautiful," he said and Clint ran his tongue around the edge again, making Phil moan and come. "Oh," he said, the word dragging on as he threw his head back. As soon as he looked away, Clint took him deeper, swallowing all of Phil's orgasm. 

Phil stopped twitching before Clint let him slide out of his mouth. Careful to not press against anything sensitive, Clint clamored up Phil, pressing gentle kisses to his throat. Phil tilted his chin up and pressed their lips together, slowly deepening the kiss, licking into Clint's mouth even though he could taste himself. He wasn't fond of it but it was worth everything when Clint moaned against him, chasing Phil's tongue.

A noise in the background made Clint start to pull away. Phil didn't care about any noise. He wanted to hear Clint moan again. "No," he whispered, drawing him back for more kisses. The noise continued and Clint chuckled against his mouth.

He pulled away, taking Phil's hand, kissing the fingers, before hopping to his feet. His cock tented the sweats. "Don't you want me to do something about that?" Phil asked. 

"I kinda like the anticipation," Clint admitted. "I can wait."

The noise continued and only then did Phil remember. The buzzer. The over. The scones. He'd made Clint breakfast.

 

It was only a little overdone – perfectly edible still. Besides, it meant that Phil had an excuse to cook again tomorrow morning.


End file.
